Abandoned roads - Jos Lammers

to maintain a single line. “Don’t move, stay in line.” With
my white cloth I had made a little shelter above my eyes
against the sun and I saw that the line far in the distance
started moving. Not long after that this movement
reached the place where I was waiting, encouraged by the
security people who started pushing to speed everybody
up. “Keep moving, brother, keep moving.” People around
me looked at each other a bit surprised when the speed
went from a careful shuffle to walking and eventually to
a sturdy stroll. I removed my mediation cloth from my
head and saw the stage rapidly approaching where the
line disappeared. The closer I got to the stage, the more
security people were standing on both sides of the line,
until at a distance of about three hundred feet I merely
walked on a narrow path between two rows of security
guys. It went on this way at a constantly higher speed,
around the curve, to the backside of the stage. There, just
around the corner, on a table with a white cloth draped
over it, stood a wooden box decorated with golden paper
with a large slot on the top, for donations to Maharaj ji. A
few steps further, very rapid now as we were pushed forward
by the WPC-s, there he was. Casually chatting with
two of his staff members kneeling besides his throne. His
feet on a white pillow. Only there the row of WPC-s was
shortly interrupted, to give each follower the space to
kiss Maharaj ji’s feet. I got there too and bowed myself
forward. As an offertory. Here I am. At that same moment
two WPC-s pulled me off his feet to pass me on through
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